


Erasing Souls

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Series: Bioshock: Measurement of A Father [2]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BioShock References, BioShock Spoilers, Dialogue Heavy, Feels, Gen, Male Protagonist, Mild Language, Philosophical talk, Poignant, Rapture (BioShock), Terrible Bedside Manner, Wrongful Imprisonment, only shippy if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: A talk with Augustus Sinclair turns into a multitude of heavy questions directed toward Gil.





	Erasing Souls

**Author's Note:**

> More o’ that Bioshock 2 AU from earlier about Sinclair being turned into a Big Daddy.

Sinclair finally met the good doctor, Gilbert.

He was positive, smiled a lot, hopeful. Everything Sinclair could not stand.

“Now, I will admit—“

Sinclair rolled his eyes, inciting an intense headache.

“—The process does take a toll, mister Sinclair—“

“O’ course, doc.” Sinclair said exhaustedly. Even his following half-smile was miserably unenthusiastic.

The whole room was chilly, the coldness emanating from vents, but Gil noticed that the atmosphere was freezing near Sinclair.

“You realise you will be left without free will.” Gil said, as professionally as he could manage.

Sinclair blinked up at him a bit blankly. “I mean, I can’t back out. I signed the waiver, Gil. Both metaphorically _and_ literally.” He smirked half-heartedly. “What else do you need?”

“I need you to understand what you’re putting on the line by choosing this for yourself.” He put his pen to the clipboard. Conducting some sort of survey.

“Well, Topside didn’t get a choice, did he?” Sinclair’s eyes were affixed on Gil’s. Gil could see the bruised look underneath them.

“No.” Gilbert sighed. “No, he didn’t.” His fingers tightened on his clipboard, he twiddled the pen in his pointer and thumb anxiously.

“Right.” Sinclair said. “And out o’ curiosity... how much does it hurt?” He squeezed his arm where he remembered getting a few shots. The usual type—vaccines, blood tests.

“Well, you will be under for most of the procedure—sans Little Sister bonding. It is a long, draining endeavour, Sinclair.”

Sinclair envisioned the toddling little monsters. Vaguely realising that he would be playing daddy to one of them.

“I know.” Sinclair only barely nodded. “An’ I’m prepared.”

“This was your choice,” Gilbert stressed. “I want you to understand—“

“ _I know, goddamnit_.” Sinclair repeated, far more harshly than before. “And I am prepared—for whatever you guys want to throw at me.”

“Why _did_ you choose this?” Gilbert questioned, looking on him in intrigue and interest.

“It was _my_ choice, Gil, I don’t think I need to explain myself.” He looked away for a moment in consideration. He let out a long breath and met Gil’s eyes again. “But here’s the long an’ short o’ it—I lost _everything_. Persephone, Spirits, and the hotel. I figured I didn’t have anything more to lose.” He sat back on the chair, as if trying to escape Gil’s bubble of logic.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Topside—he’d lost it all, too. Whatever family he must have had up above was no longer relevant. He was a dead man, according to the surface.

“Sinclair, I was told you had volunteered after your neighbour was retrieved for conversion?”

“I don’t follow.” Sinclair lied.

“Did you feel guilt? Perhaps a sort of... _connection_ , to this ‘Topside’ character?” He said carefully.

“If I did, what’s it matter? Won’t remember it after you’re done.”

“Sinclair...” Gil angled his head a little, looking down at him, almost as if to chide him. “You didn’t have to—“

“ _Look_ , Ryan sees me as a public enemy now, and the she-devil Lamb’s probably got a _hit_ out on me... so putting me in one a’ those suits—that’ll be a _godsend_ of a mercy compared to what those two would have in store if I showed my face outside this facility.” Sinclair said bluntly. “Now cut it with the fine print and pretence, an’ lets get this over with.”

“You’re a rare personality, Sinclair,” Gil said, visibly impressed. “So few can manage to still be so combative during an extended incarceration down here. Even ‘Topside’, as aggressive as he was, has started losing his will.”

“Well, he’s a better man than I am, doc. Knows when a fight ain’t worth sweatin’ over.” Sinclair admitted. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep my will to fight, keeps me sane enough to remember my own name. ‘Cause frankly, I don’t _want_ to forget my name.” He looked at his wrist at the medical band. _Sinclair, Augustus._ It was looking more and more foreign every day. “I’ve already given up on everything else, just don’t take my name or soul away. _Please_.”

Gil looked shameful.

And Sinclair could read his face pretty clearly, but Gil spoke anyway. “Full erasure of human nature and personality is typically required of Big Daddy conversion, Sinclair. Programming and conditioning is long, tiresome, painstaking. And I’m sorry to say, Sinclair, that there will be nothing left behind after the process.”

“You’re terrible at bedside manner, doc.” Sinclair stated. Steepling his fingers on the table.

“Most don’t ask such heavy questions.”

“Well, what is a soul to you?” Sinclair asked.

Gil seemed to give pause, formulating his response. He took in a breath. “I wonder about the science of the soul, sometimes.” He looked at Sinclair, his eyes full of light, yet glazed. “Some believe that ADAM _is_ soul. Every drop, a piece of someone’s life. Others say it’s something metaphysical. Transcendent.” He smiled. “Looking at it metaphysically, your soul never departs until one passes—and with ADAM, you will always live on.”

Sinclair didn’t expect such a weighted answer. And it actually supplied him with the smallest dose of comfort. And the barest sample of closure.

“That was... _decent_ , doc.” He commented. He looked at the table. “But I wasn’t looking for the _theoretics_. All I’m asking is that I remain my own man. That is my only wish.”

“Wishes are a finicky thing, often accompanied by miracles.” He looked at the clipboard forlornly, at the notes on it. “Keep that wish in mind, Sinclair. Hope is a rare, _precious_ commodity—treasure it.”


End file.
